Gerry Hail (19.11.58-17.07.2010)
I want a garden.
It is as simple as that. This urge seems to come from a very ancient place. It is one which compels me to find that perfect piece of land to work and get to know on an intimate level: find out, what birds come here? Insects? How do the plants best compliment each other? What can I grow here? What wants to grow here? I find contemplations such as these demanding attention in my mind, pushing so many other things I once deemed important, like living in a city, aside. "It's your age," Helle, a 53 year-old who recalls Gertrude Stein. "It's hormones. I've had it happen to me twice in my life, and now I have a garden."
I'm sitting at Bøssehuset (The Gay House) in Christiania for Gerry Hall's farewell party. It's a sunny day, and I'm among a collection of folk present to celebrate a life of a star who has returned to the heavens.
I first met Gerry about four or five years ago at a party. He was also from the U.S. and he greeted me not only with warmth, but when he heard of my professional background, encouraged me to contact his office regarding work. I have met many other Americans here, some more established here than me. Gerry was the only one who reached out to me and offered me assistance. It was a gesture that automatically put him in a special place among my constellation of acquaintances, not to mention that he had been here a bit longer than I. In fact, Gerry is a pioneer in that he truly paved the way for others, much like me, to live here. Gerry definitely was one of the first, few African-American expats in Copenhagen.
The last time I connected with Gerry, one-on-one, was when we bumped into each other on the train. It was during the whole Mohammed controversy, when images of Danish flags in flames kept on fluttering past our vision. The whole progressive world, it seemed, disliked Denmark for its provinciality, it's lack of sophistication and inability to demonstrate tact when in the face of difference. While many expats, Americans for sure, wiped our foreheads in relief that this time at least, it wasn't the U.S. that had made another global misstep, Danes finally understood the brunt of having a not so popular passport. "I used to be so proud to be Danish," I would hear many say, "I used to be proud to travel with my Danish passport."
As soon as we spotted each other on the train, we smiled and immediately made our way to each other, hugged and kissed. "Ain't it something?" I asked, knowing instinctively that he knew to what I referred. "Yup," Gerry responded, "and I'm now officially a Dane." He revealed, an ironic smile on his face. I looked at him with disbelief and we both laughed. "If I could get my U.S. citizen back, believe me, I would." He admitted. "What timing!" he sighed, and again, we both laughed, because what else could we have done, truly?
I walked into the Bøssehuset, an oasis for the homosexual community here, and took a moment to look at the pictures of Gerry decorating the walls and gracing the screen of a laptop. What did I see? I saw a man with a baby in his arms. A man visiting his family with his husband, proud. And although I am not privy to the private dynamic of his familial ties, I can say that I see a man not only at peace with himself, but one who seemed committed to honoring all the relationships in his life. When I heard that Gerry had met Jesper, his husband, some years ago, I felt one thing intuitively, and for this I never had to have a discussion with anyone about for it was so evident: he had met someone with whom he could create peace with.
At the ceremony yesterday, it was mentioned that Gerry had begun to garden. The crux of the joke seemed to lay in the polar duality implicit in the fact that a guy like Gerry, a man who it is said, loves the dance floor, could in fact, settle down enough to garden...but that is one of the sweetest possibilities in life: to have the time to unfold and do things one perhaps thought one would never do...like gardening.
"I smiled so much today, my face hurt." I confide to Brenda, another expat who paved the way for folks like me. Brenda is a fellow New Yorker, who a while ago had decided to give New York City a go with her son. She is now back, and I am sure I speak for a whole lot of folk when I say, that that is a good thing. "I know, " she says, "I feel like I'm at my own wedding." And it is true: what kind of tranformative spirit is involved here that can make the attendants of a farewell party feel like they are at their own wedding? The answer is easy, Gerry's.
There's an expat joke that goes a little something like this, "Hey you should meet so and so...she's also American." to which the reply could be, "If I wanted to meet other Americans, I would have stayed in America." The ironic thing is, and this was demonstrated yesterday, is that the particular expat community I have access to here, rocks.
There certainly is something special about the community of folks that I have met here in Denmark. Although there can be a dysfunctional spirit that can arise between an expat and his or her host country, I have to say that many do a good job at adhering to the adage that wherever you go, there you are. Many do a great job at supporting each other.
Gerry didn't fall into that category of expats who complained about Denmark as though Denmark was some insatiable beast that forced you to stay! Gerry will be missed not only among the landscape of expats but to a community much larger: Denmark, the U.S. and let's face it, the whole world. But as I wrote to him yesterday, in a book in front of a window that allowed me to see the array of friends and acquaintances who all stopped by to convene in the spirit of Gerry, stars, like you, Gerry, are eternal and I am truly honored to have met your spirit. I know that I, as all others, have been moved by your existence.
And I am so happy, Gerry, that you got your garden!
farvel,
the lab
I'm sitting at Bøssehuset (The Gay House) in Christiania for Gerry Hall's farewell party. It's a sunny day, and I'm among a collection of folk present to celebrate a life of a star who has returned to the heavens.
I first met Gerry about four or five years ago at a party. He was also from the U.S. and he greeted me not only with warmth, but when he heard of my professional background, encouraged me to contact his office regarding work. I have met many other Americans here, some more established here than me. Gerry was the only one who reached out to me and offered me assistance. It was a gesture that automatically put him in a special place among my constellation of acquaintances, not to mention that he had been here a bit longer than I. In fact, Gerry is a pioneer in that he truly paved the way for others, much like me, to live here. Gerry definitely was one of the first, few African-American expats in Copenhagen.
The last time I connected with Gerry, one-on-one, was when we bumped into each other on the train. It was during the whole Mohammed controversy, when images of Danish flags in flames kept on fluttering past our vision. The whole progressive world, it seemed, disliked Denmark for its provinciality, it's lack of sophistication and inability to demonstrate tact when in the face of difference. While many expats, Americans for sure, wiped our foreheads in relief that this time at least, it wasn't the U.S. that had made another global misstep, Danes finally understood the brunt of having a not so popular passport. "I used to be so proud to be Danish," I would hear many say, "I used to be proud to travel with my Danish passport."
As soon as we spotted each other on the train, we smiled and immediately made our way to each other, hugged and kissed. "Ain't it something?" I asked, knowing instinctively that he knew to what I referred. "Yup," Gerry responded, "and I'm now officially a Dane." He revealed, an ironic smile on his face. I looked at him with disbelief and we both laughed. "If I could get my U.S. citizen back, believe me, I would." He admitted. "What timing!" he sighed, and again, we both laughed, because what else could we have done, truly?
I walked into the Bøssehuset, an oasis for the homosexual community here, and took a moment to look at the pictures of Gerry decorating the walls and gracing the screen of a laptop. What did I see? I saw a man with a baby in his arms. A man visiting his family with his husband, proud. And although I am not privy to the private dynamic of his familial ties, I can say that I see a man not only at peace with himself, but one who seemed committed to honoring all the relationships in his life. When I heard that Gerry had met Jesper, his husband, some years ago, I felt one thing intuitively, and for this I never had to have a discussion with anyone about for it was so evident: he had met someone with whom he could create peace with.
At the ceremony yesterday, it was mentioned that Gerry had begun to garden. The crux of the joke seemed to lay in the polar duality implicit in the fact that a guy like Gerry, a man who it is said, loves the dance floor, could in fact, settle down enough to garden...but that is one of the sweetest possibilities in life: to have the time to unfold and do things one perhaps thought one would never do...like gardening.
"I smiled so much today, my face hurt." I confide to Brenda, another expat who paved the way for folks like me. Brenda is a fellow New Yorker, who a while ago had decided to give New York City a go with her son. She is now back, and I am sure I speak for a whole lot of folk when I say, that that is a good thing. "I know, " she says, "I feel like I'm at my own wedding." And it is true: what kind of tranformative spirit is involved here that can make the attendants of a farewell party feel like they are at their own wedding? The answer is easy, Gerry's.
There's an expat joke that goes a little something like this, "Hey you should meet so and so...she's also American." to which the reply could be, "If I wanted to meet other Americans, I would have stayed in America." The ironic thing is, and this was demonstrated yesterday, is that the particular expat community I have access to here, rocks.
There certainly is something special about the community of folks that I have met here in Denmark. Although there can be a dysfunctional spirit that can arise between an expat and his or her host country, I have to say that many do a good job at adhering to the adage that wherever you go, there you are. Many do a great job at supporting each other.
Gerry didn't fall into that category of expats who complained about Denmark as though Denmark was some insatiable beast that forced you to stay! Gerry will be missed not only among the landscape of expats but to a community much larger: Denmark, the U.S. and let's face it, the whole world. But as I wrote to him yesterday, in a book in front of a window that allowed me to see the array of friends and acquaintances who all stopped by to convene in the spirit of Gerry, stars, like you, Gerry, are eternal and I am truly honored to have met your spirit. I know that I, as all others, have been moved by your existence.
And I am so happy, Gerry, that you got your garden!
farvel,
the lab
Comments
hugs,
lab